


just know you’re not alone (i’ll make this place your home)

by Mauisse_Flowers



Category: Horizon: Zero Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Elizabet Sobeck Lives, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Game, Post-The Frozen Wilds DLC, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-22 15:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22384831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mauisse_Flowers/pseuds/Mauisse_Flowers
Summary: She had planned, no matter what she found, to leave in the morning. Alone, a single constant in her life.She stares at the words CRYO-STASIS and hopes, bright and unyielding, refusing to be ignored.————————SPORADIC UPDATES, INDEFINITE BCS F**K LIFE
Comments: 40
Kudos: 95





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the few Elizabeth Lives fics I’ve seen. Just a one shot currently.

Aloy isn’t entirely sure what she expects to find when she arrives at the Sobeck Ranch. A dead body, certainly. Maybe only a few bones. Or even just... the impression of her, maybe.

She does find a body, preserved in a suit. The same suit she had watched on a holo, Elisabet telling her team she had closed the leak, saving their lives. If only for a short while.

She kneels, the echoing of GAIA and Elisabet’s conversation playing on the Focus. She reaches out, brushing her hand across the breastplate in wonder, needing to make sure she’s here, that she’s finally found her mother.

** Dr. E.Sobeck. **

It glows purple, soft and translucent in the evening light. Her heart constricts, as Elisabet speaks.

_“I guess... I would have wanted her to be... curious. And willful– unstoppable, even... But with enough compassion to heal the world.”_ A brief intake of breath, and then, _“Just a little bit.”_

She finds the tiny globe, a little dusty and a bit worn, but still beautiful. She clutches it close, listens to Elisabet wish GAIA goodnight.

_ “I wish you a pleasant sleep, Elisabet.” _

The ache deep in her chest tightens further, building up as tears come to her eyes. She raises her face to the evening sun, smiling through her tears.

The pain slowly releases, leaving a bone-deep ache that may never leave, like how the cold had lingered long after she’d left the Cut months ago.

Aloy stands there for a time, in the evening light, in the bird song. And when she feels the last of her tears fall, she lowers the globe, looking back at Elisabet.

Below Elisabet’s name, in a frosty blue like moonlight against snow, are two words, bridged by a line.

** CRYO-STATIS **

Aloy inhales slowly, hope prickling the back of her neck, familiar and fragile.

She kneels again, reaching out to Elisabet, gently lifting her head. She moves easily, not like a thousand year old corpse. That hope prickles again, more insistent now.

The evening sun lengthens his shadows, and she knows that whatever she is looking at now she must decide quickly.

She had planned, no matter what she found, to leave in the morning. Alone, a single constant in her life.

She stares at the words **CRYO-STASIS** and hopes, bright and unyielding, refusing to be ignored.

Aloy gently, carefully, pockets the globe with one hand. Then she reaches out, wraps an arm around the back of Elisabet, has to force her arm between the stone bench and Elisabet’s body. But she manages to lever Elisabet away, into her arms to lay her on the soft, cool grass, careful to not crush the purple flowers.

**CRYO-STASIS** continues to blink up at her.

Aloy will head for the Cut tomorrow, knows CYAN will have the answers she seeks. But she won’t leave Elisabet behind.

Hope beats against her chest, bright and warm, and there are more tears on her cheeks as she grins, unable to stop herself.


	2. Chapter 2

She travels.

Alone. But with Elisabet.

It took some maneuvering, and thinking, and much more planning than she was used to, but she figured out a way to bring the sleeping woman with her. It meant the Strider could only go slow, pulling the woman behind on a pallet, and they kept to even ground if they could, and Aloy stayed hyper-focused on her surroundings as they traveled.

She stopped to sleep, eat, and relieve herself but that was about it. She had a plan, a point in the future to focus on.

Most of her company was her thoughts as she came from the Forbidden West, finding her way back into the Sundom. Many people recognized her, few stopped her to talk. It was a blessing.

Aloy had been alone so long it was strange to suddenly have someone to talk to again. It wasn’t that Aloy had forgotten, it was simply she’d gotten used to her own thoughts, to talking to herself, to patting the Strider’s side as if a living, breathing thing.

(She thinks of GAIA, of the Alphas, of their hope, and knows the Strider is alive, just made of metal and oil instead of blood and bone.)

Aloy skirts Meridian, though she remembers Talanah, Erend, and Avad. A small bit of wonder prickles her neck and she tells herself After. After she’s woken Elisabet and acclimated the doctor to the new world. After... whatever else she needed to do to make Elisabet feel comfortable. Taught her to fight, to gather, to hunt.

Elisabet would like Petra, Aloy knows this intrinsically. Both like to tinker, to work with their hands. It is something she has in common with her mot– with Elisabet. What makes Petra easy to like.

Once, Aloy comes across Nil. Still, somehow, alive, an old gleam in his gaze. He glances over the shrouded body of Elisabet, a roll of cloth under the woman’s head, and a few machine parts around her. Made her look inconspicuous. Easier to travel with without questions or worry. Then he looked at her, seeing her and seeing through her.

“Strange times we live in,” he says, chipper as always. “The huntress no longer travels light, no longer only the death of enemies to keep her going.”

“Nil,” Aloy sighs, exasperated and not surprised. Always so gross and oddly poignant. “What do you want?”

He tells her about a new bandit camp, and she wants to say no. She has to reach the Cut, has so many questions to ask of CYAN, has to awake Elisabet Sobeck. And Aloy knows Nil can handle himself, had long before she’d come along and long after.

But, she reminds herself, and realizes how familiar with her voice being in her mind she’s become, he willingly came to help defend Meridian. Because there were enemies to kill and blood to be spilled, yes, but also because of her.

_ “Aloy. They told me your name,” _ he’d explained back then, in the hot afternoon two days before the Battle of the Spire and for the world.  _ “I said hair like a splash of blood, tenacious as a Scrapper’s jaws.” _

So she glances back at Elisabet, tucked away safely, and then says, “Okay. I’ll meet you there in a day’s time.”

He grins, baring his teeth in a facsimile of a smile. “You can never say no to the heat of battle. Not when it sings in your blood, the smell of fear from your prey like the air after rain.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Nil don’t make me change my mind.”

She leaves shortly after, skin crawling. He watches her go, quiet as a hawk, still as death, eyes fever bright. They always have been.

She regrets promising to help him clear the camp, but she would hate to see him dead. And the world did need people like him. And, she glances at Elisabet again, it meant the world would be that much safer for her.


	3. Chapter 3

She hides Elisabet and the strider in a cave, though more an alcove if anything. The area isn’t well patrolled, whether by human or machine, and it means neither would be bothered.

Aloy doesn’t want to leave, but knows she has too. If she doesn’t handle this now, she will have to later. And probably with Elisabet awake and in watching distance. She doesn’t want her to see even more death, to know that all her hard work still ends in people killing people.

Elisabet had sacrificed a world, and herself, to bring back life with the hope humans would learn to be better. Aloy didn’t want her to ever see that plan had failed.

So she nestles Elisabet away and tells the Strider to stay put. The Strider stares at Aloy with its bright blue lens and she takes that as confirmation it would stay. That it would watch over Elisabet in Aloy’s— hopefully brief— absence.

The bandit camp is a quarter of a day’s walk from where she hid Elisabet, and she runs half of that. She pauses to check her equipment, to make sure she has plenty of hard point arrows and a few fire arrows in case of any blaze containers she could use to her advantage.

She skirts herds of Broadheads, slinks further into the swampy jungle to avoid the creeping Stalkers. She remembers when they were larger in numbers, but since overriding all the nearby Cauldrons production had slowed, as if HEPHAESTUS had pulled back, an animal wounded. 

The camp isn’t all that large, appearing relatively new if the yet to be tarnished red and white banners said much. Why did they always choose red and white?

She crouches in the long grass and flips on her Focus. Immediately she sees three archers, one positioned at the two entrances and a third between them, the camp being backed against a cliff face too high for even her to shoot from. She creeps closer, noting the four heavily armored bandits with plenty of blaze. The other nine are typical bandits, which wouldn’t be hard to deal with.

She makes sure to keep note of where the three captives are, lit up in blue and by the outlines looking to be a Carja and two Banuk. Strange to see a Banuk so far from home, but she wouldn’t turn down the help if she could free them before alerting the bandits.

Aloy locates Nil, moving far from the camp before coming around to his side where he sits facing the eastern entrance, hidden by the red feathers of his hat. There is a knowing curl to his lips she doesn’t like.

“I’ll take point,” she says, wanting this done quickly and—preferably—quietly.

“Of course, Aloy.”

She quickly takes out the archers, an arrow through an eye for each. They drop to their platforms, twitching slightly, and then still. And the rest of the bandits, secure in their idea of safety with no sightings of the famed red-haired huntress, do not look up to check their allies.

Good.

“I’ll take the west entrance,” Aloy says, and waits for Nil’s assenting nod before leaving.

It’s maybe the cleanest she’s ever taken out a bandit camp before. She can’t recall the last time she’d done this, but she remembers Nil being too eager and alerting the guards at one time. It had become a bloodbath, just like he’d wanted. And an arrow had snipped her arm as she took out the alarm. But here Nil follows her cues, taking them down quietly, a slit to the throat or knife through the heart.

She frees the captives and the Banuk help. The Carja was a noble, taken hostage in the hope of ransom, and runs for it soon as he can.

When all is said and done, the Banuk and Carja on their way back to Meridian, she meets Nil.

“Huntress,” he greets brightly. “Our time together is always so brief and yet so sweet. The heady scent of death lingers…” He takes a deep, near joyful breath, exhales. “And then is gone.”

“This doesn’t look like its gone to me,” Aloy says, a tad reproachful.

Nil smiles. “The bodies linger, but the rush of adrenaline does not.”

He had a point with that one.

“It was,” she tries to think of something to say. Nil was always weirdly polite and it felt weird if she wasn’t polite back. “Nice… to see you again.”

“The wound on my heart steadily heals each day,” he tells her sociably. “Though the arrowhead catches the tender flesh once more seeing you again, starting the swell of blood anew. It is a welcome change of the monotonous wandering.”

“Uh… try to keep yourself out of trouble, okay, Nil?”

She takes a steady step back. She needed to get back to Elisabet and her Strider. They might need her. And she couldn’t lose them, not when—

She takes a slow breath. “I’ll see you around.”

“As surely as the sun and moon rise,” he says, watching her leave.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty short so I’m posting it early and gonna post chapter 5 tomorrow. So a double update!

Elisabet and the Strider are fine. Some dirt and leaves have blown onto the pallet, have gotten on Elisabet’s blanket. She brushes away the leaves, fans the blanket. She checks the suit, inspecting for any possible nicks or breaks.

There are none, and Aloy cannot find words to express how grateful she is for this.

She pats the Strider’s snout in thanks, the machine leaning into the touch.

She needed to reach CYAN, she knows this, but there will be steep hills and cliff faces Elisabet cannot climb in her deep slumber. Now that she has returned to the Sundom, after seeing Nil—always alone, always without friends— she realizes she will need help.

She thinks of Petra, and Ikrie, and Varga.

Aloy checks the roll under Elisabet’s head to make sure she is comfortable then covers Elisabet again, as if tucking a child in as, once, Rost did for her.

Thankfully she knows the best routes to avoid machines.

She pats the Strider once more. And, in a small change of pace, says aloud, “We’ll head to Free Heap in the morning.”


	5. Chapter 5

Petra is happy to see Aloy, sweeping her into a sudden hug that takes the Nora huntress’s feet clear off the ground. Aloy tenses for a moment, unsure of how to respond, and then relaxes when her feet touch the ground.

The touch is unusual, but soothing, comfortable even. Petra pats her back, then steps back.

“Haven’t seen you in ages, flame hair! Was worried I’d never see you again. Where have you been?”

“Here and there,” Aloy says. “Looking for my mother.”

Petra actually pauses at this. “Did you find her?”

“I did. That’s why I’m here.”

Petra finally looks past Aloy, to the pallet and the Strider it’s hitched to. She looks back at Aloy. “She meeting you here?”

Aloy looks back at the pallet, at Elisabet resting, aware no one would touch her things lest bring down her _and_ Petra’s wrath, and then looks back at Petra. “Can we talk in private?”

Petra nods. “Sure. C’mon I’ll show you my place.”

Aloy hesitates, glancing once more back, then follows after Petra.

Petra’s home is small and dark, safe even. With its thatched roof reinforced by steel and heavy stone walls. Petra sits at the long, lone table, crowded by parts and half twisted metal, things Petra tinkered with before bed. Aloy joins her, figuring out the order of how she wanted to explain everything. 

Petra didn’t care for the Old Ones, though she was interested in their technology. And she did care for her friends, which Aloy was.

“So what’s up? Don’t think I’ve ever seen you look skittish before, like a fresh spark in a cold forge.”

“You could say that.” Aloy exhales. “What if I told you there was an Old One still alive?” Petra’s eyebrows raise. “And she was my mother?”

Petra’s eyebrows reach the line of her headscarf. She exhales sharply. “Wouldn’t be surprised, to be honest. You’re not like many others, flame hair. And not just because of your hair. You’ve got a spark in you not like others, feels older, like it’s from before the rest of us. But you’re also young, still curious about how things work, figuring out where your cog fits in the rest of this machine of life.” Petra spreads her hands. “Not sure what else you wanna hear from me.”

It was more than Aloy expected, honestly. And it is reassuring.

“My mother is asleep.” Aloy explains the best she can without really explaining. It would take too much time and she needed to do this. “A deep sleep. Has been for a long time and I can’t wake her alone… I need help from someone up in the Cut. And I need your help too.”

The realization is quick to light up Petra’s eyes. She looks utterly floored. “That’s your mother out there?” She laughs, a weak sound, pressing her hand to her forehead. “By the forge, Aloy.”

“You don’t have to help me,” Aloy says. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not that.” Petra laughs again. “I’ll help. But first we need a cart. I can’t imagine the headache I’d have if I woke up being dragged around like that all day and night.”

“We won’t be able to take it into the Cut without some trouble.”

“So?” Petra grins. “I’ve heard about the climbs to get the Cut. I’m not afraid. I mean, sure, we could go around but that means going through Ban-Ur or over the mountains. More snow and machines than its worth, and from what I hear, if you aren’t Banuk you shouldn’t be in Ban-Ur.”

She thinks of Ikrie, of the White Teeth werak, and agrees.

“It’s settled then. Jorgriz should have a cart we can borrow. With the chaos him and Beladga cause, there shouldn’t be much fuss so long as it comes back in one piece.” Petra gets up. “Now lets get some food in you. You look skinnier than the last time I saw you.”

“I didn’t realize I _was_ skinny.” Aloy says, following.

“Certainly. But your restless charm distracts.”

And then she winks at Aloy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realized i didn’t put the correct date whoops

Aloy enjoys Petra’s company. She has a lot of stories to share, and her laugh is loud and crackling. She is used to the quiet, expects herself to dislike company these days, but she finds herself feeling the exact opposite. Finds herself craving it when given any, even if it was Nil, and already almost hoping to never lose Petra’s.

“So,” Petra begins, as they crest a hill, “how did you find out your mom is an Old One?”

“It’s a bit of a long story.” Aloy cannot help her nervous laugh. _Long story_ was an understatement, if she’d ever heard one.

“We’ve got time,” Petra reminds, motioning to the open landscape around them from atop her strider rigged to the cart.

They had headed out at first light, long after Petra had made sure Free Heap would still be standing when she returned in a few months. While she was the unofficial leader, she was still the leader, but she luckily had some people she trusted to keep the place going while she was gone. They had moved Elisabet to Jorgriz’s cart before even the blue haze of dawn, along with the other things Aloy had amassed along the way (she couldn’t seem to help wanting to gather all she could carry, even if she wasn’t carrying it herself). Petra had marveled at the suit, curious about how it worked, and Aloy would be lying if she said she didn’t wonder too.

Sylens said all known attempts had failed. But here Elisabet was, alive over 1,000 years later, merely sleeping.

And yes, Aloy found they did have time for her to explain the story to Petra. The first person she’s ever told this story to besides Rost. It is strange and liberating, as if carrying all this knowledge around has weighed her down so slowly she had bent under the weight but never broke, never been aware of it’s damage until then.

Petra takes it surprisingly well, asking few questions and mostly listening. At the end, she huffs. “Damn, girl. And I thought the Claim was complicated.”

Aloy is shocked into laughter, weak and hesitant. Petra grins. “Not surprised,” Petra continues. “Like I said, you always had an older spark. Turns out I was literally right.” A pause. “Damn. Explain this Zero Dawn to me again?”

Aloy finds herself laughing again. It feels good to tell someone, someone who is willing to learn about the past despite claiming to not care for it.

“I can do something better,” Aloy says, after a brief debate, and removes her Focus. It is strange to remove it, for the pale, barely there glow on the edge of her vision to disappear. She holds it out to Petra, palm flat.

Petra raises her eyebrow. “Your little triangle?”

“It’ll help. Trust me.” Aloy wiggles her palm. “I don’t let anyone touch this, Petra.”

“Okay then.” Petra takes it, handling the fragile device with the care it deserves, inspectiving and seeming to itch with the want to take it apart and find out its inner workings. “So I just clip it on like you do?”

“Yep.”

Petra does, jerking a bit when the interface immediately comes to life, covering her in a hexagonal dome of purple as far as she can see. “Whoa. Flame hair, that’s a lot more than I expected.”

Aloy grins, though tempered by her knowing what Petra is about to hear. “Open up the ‘hologram datapoint recordings’. It’s all very intuitive so shouldn’t be much trouble to find. Go to The Bad News and then The Good News.”

“Sounds pretty scary.” Petra mumbles, and her fingers move through the air, wonder in her gaze. Aloy can almost see the interface, though that’s likely just her memories. “Can’t believe something of the Old Ones survived this long and still works, and is so _small_. By the Forge, it’s a marvel. Never cared much for them but gotta admire their... oh.”

She knows when Petra is listening. See’s Petra’s face slacken, then harden. Aloy can almost imagine General Herres standing before them, explaining what Enduring Victory truly is, the chance to give Zero Dawn time, to endure the Faro Plague long enough to allow life to one day be reborn. _That_ is the true enduring victory, that the Faro Plague was stopped long after life was gone… and long after it was brought back.

There is an angry set to her jaw as her hand, shaking a little, moves, to play Elisabet’s message. A small flicker towards Aloy, who sounds just like Elisabet if younger, a little less worn down, compared to her predecessor who sleeps behind them. Then Petra listens, leaning forward a fraction, taking in all the information given to her.

And when the playback ends, Petra exhales shakily. She removes the Focus, handing it to Aloy. She takes it back, calm. She’s had months to accept all this, even if alone as she did so.

“So they all died. It’s not that we came from them, and they died, it’s… everything on Earth died, and this GAIA rebuilt everything, even humans?”

“Yes.” Aloy fiddles with her Focus, returns it to its place beside her ear. “Elisabet is and is not my mother. From a message I found left by GAIA, I was… built by her left over genetic material—DNA— and born like our ancestors in a Cradle.”

“Damn.” Petra says. “Weird to find out the Nora are _technically_ right. The Old Ones all died and their ‘All-Mother’ brought everything back.”

“But GAIA isn’t—”

“I know.” Petra shrugs. “She’s a machine. We all come from machines.” Petra pats her strider. “Honestly I’m somehow not shocked about that either.”

“You’re not?”

“No.” Petra grins at Aloy, abruptly, and says, “Your moms are proud of you, I know it.”

“I don’t think GAIA thought of me as…” Aloy trails, biting back the fact she wanted that. “She said she was making a ‘re-instantiation’ of Elisabet.”

“So?” Petra demands. “You weren’t raised to be Elisabet. You were raised to be Aloy, and you’ve said yourself she’s your mother. And we all came from machines somewhere down the line, so it’s not weird to call GAIA your mother either.”

And Aloy finds she cannot argue with Petra. Sylens had said something similar, once, though she was loath to think of him.

And the idea was more appealing than Aloy could put into words. She’s spent her entire life chasing down the truth of her parentage, of finding her mother, and she found her mother. _Mothers_ , even.

There is a familiar prickling heat behind Aloy’s eyes and she nods, blinking away the tears. She has never cried in front of someone, to do so now feels wrong. Not vulnerable wrong, just uncomfortable.

“Maybe. If… If GAIA wants that, too.”

“She does.” Petra says, conviction clear. “Can’t build the whole human race and _not_.”

“Maybe…”


	7. Chapter 7

How Aloy forgot about the Thunderjaw and the grazing tramplers in the northern pass of the Longroam, she’ll never know. She’d flipped on her Focus and seen them and instantly regretted not passing the long way around through Nora lands with a stop to see Gera after Petra revealed the two were friends. But this was quicker and Petra hadn’t exactly packed for winter weather.

Which reminded Aloy they’d definitely need to rectify that before reaching the cut. How Varga and her father Burgrend faired in that snow so well was beyond her, as even Aloy felt the chill. She bet anything it was from years living near forges.

Or they just had skin tough as leather.

Maybe both.

“Huh,” Petra leans back on her strider, looking at the herd of tramplers and the Thunderjaw below them. “Think we can get around them?”

“No,” Aloy says, already dismounting and grabbing her bow. “The cart makes too much noise.”

Petra makes a “I know” face as Aloy grabs her tripcaster. “Definitely shouldn’t have left that cannon back home. We have the room.”

“I’ll be right back,” Aloy says to that, heading down the hill and disappearing into the undergrowth.

The area was very grassy, sparse in a lot of places, but plenty of red reeds grow. If she was hoping for tree cover, she’d only get that up near the rising of the cliffs and mountains, close to the stream that cuts clear down the middle of the northern pass, winding and clear.

Thankfully she wasn’t.

The first thing she does it use her tripcaster to block off the tramplers with a few firewires and a blastwire. It won’t keep them all back, but definitely help once she attempts to override the Thunderjaw, alerting them to her presence if she fails.

She turns her sights on the Thunderjaw then, large and imposing. There is some burns and other damage along it’s flanks, manibles scuffed likely from charging it’s attackers and striking armor or the walls of the valley. Whoever it was that attacked the Thunderjaw looks to have put up a good fight, but didn’t come out the winner.

Aloy luckily didn’t need to win, she just needed to override it.

If she didn’t, it _would_ be a fight, but not one she hasn’t had before.

Aloy takes a few moments to track the Thunderjaw’s path, deciding the best place to hide so as to catch it unawares. The right hind leg was the easiest place to override the machine, so she needed a spot close enough to its right.

She finds it as the Thunderjaw turns to walk back across the stream. With it’s back turned to cross the stream, she runs, body low, throwing herself into a slide into the tall reeds just a few feet from where it’s right flank would be in a few minutes.

 _Okay_ , she thinks, _when it comes back around, run up behind it and done. It’ll take out the tramplers once they attack and we can pass through safely._

The waiting never bothers her. Her entire life has been built on patience and the act of waiting, of the perfect timing. Machines were predictable, something she could count on to always follow their track and their jobs unless disturbed by humans. And even then, machines were still predictable. She could wait on machines.

In no time at all, and yet an eternity later, the Thunderjaw begins to amble back around. It crosses the stream, slow and careful, scanning its surroundings as it goes. She stays low, gripping her lance tightly, unable to help her slight bounce in anticipation. It comes closer, closer, _closer l_ —

It stops to scan the area and she tenses, stilling in preparation to run if it finds her.

A moment, a single breath, she can feel each individual heart beat, and then—

It turns, continuing on its track. She springs out, shoving the override against the Thunderjaw’s hind leg. It stalls, jerking, and goes still.

“Come on, come on,” she whispers, watching the red slowly, far too slowly for her liking, bleed blue. There is a soft whir in the Thunderjaw’s body and then blue glowing veins sprout out, taking over, and a few plates fall away. She heaves a breath of relief and fully stands, stepping back.

The Thunderjaw turns, looking at her, as if awaiting orders. She reaches out, petting its mandible.

She is about to head back to Petra when there is the sharp crack of flames igniting, _boom_ rocking the ground beneath her feet. The Thunderjaw whips around, eyes turning red as it zeroes in on the broadheads that had, predictably, taken notice of their friend turning foe.

The Thunderjaw moves fast, careful to sidestep her, and easily mows down the broadheads within minutes. It’s brutal to watch, the way it tears through them with mines and lasers and crushes one with its tail. But it’s quick, at least.

Then it thunders back over, steps rocking the earth. And it stares at her, waiting. She pats the Thunderjaw’s mandible and, like with all the others, all she says is, “Keep doing your job patrolling.”

It watches her for a moment but, once she has stepped far enough away to be out of its range of attack, turns back to doing its initial job. She heads back up the hill to Petra, who has been watching with a delighted look on her face.

“What?” Aloy asks, confused.

“I’ve never gotten to see you do that,” Petra says. “I thought you were gonna be crushed for a second.”

“It’s easier to do than you think,” Aloy says.

“Not from where I was sitting,” Petra says. “I’m not crazy enough to get that close to a Thunderjaw.”

“Maybe you’ve not had the opportunity.”

“Just did.” Petra leans back on her strider. “I think I’ll stay where I am next time.”

Aloy shrugs. “Whatever feels best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I need to take a four week break on this project. Life is a little chaotic where I’m at and I don’t want to get too behind on this one and my other active fic, which will also be on 4 week hiatus starting Monday.
> 
> Cheers!


End file.
